


let love lead us, love is christmas

by SweetTveitoPie



Series: prompts [10]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Holiday Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 01:30:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetTveitoPie/pseuds/SweetTveitoPie
Summary: written for the 2018 e/é holiday fic exchange!! all errors minefirst fic posted in 2018!! woohooooooooooooocontent warning: brief mention of an overdoselook at me, kind of referencing my anastasia au (if you haven't read that already please do, i'm really very proud of it and i'd love it if you could take time out of your day to read that little multichapter au of mine)





	let love lead us, love is christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EnjoninePride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnjoninePride/gifts).



> written for the 2018 e/é holiday fic exchange!! all errors mine
> 
> first fic posted in 2018!! woohooooooooooooo
> 
> content warning: brief mention of an overdose
> 
> look at me, kind of referencing my anastasia au (if you haven't read that already please do, i'm really very proud of it and i'd love it if you could take time out of your day to read that little multichapter au of mine)

“Great job, _honey_ ,” Éponine remarks bitingly as she and Enjolras stand before the kitchen counter, staring at all of the burnt batches of cookies. “Really, you’re amazing at this.”

“’Ponine, _sweetheart_ , you know I can’t bake anything without a proper recipe!” he heatedly protests, pursing his lips as he picks up a cookie. It crumbles in his hand. “So really, this is your fault.”

“’Jolras, _babe_ , we’ve spent nine Christmases together,” Éponine reminds him, taking his hand and squeezing it, “and yet you’re still incapable of memorising the recipe for our Christmas cookies.”

“I have memorised it, _angel_ , I just need to double check every time,” Enjolras replies, relaxing just a bit at the feeling of Éponine’s hand in his. “It needs to be _perfect_. We can’t poison our friends. And besides, _you_ were the one who lost the recipe.”

“We’ve never poisoned our friends before!” Éponine cries out in exasperation, throwing her free hand up into the air for emphasis. “I’m sure we would’ve been fine if you had just let me bake it instead!”

It’s a freezing, dreary afternoon on Christmas Eve and somehow, Éponine and Enjolras have managed to burn all of their batches of Christmas cookies they make annually for the Amis’ annual Christmas party, and now they’re left with two hundred burnt cookies all spread out across the kitchen counter. Christmas is mere hours away and they can’t possibly have enough time to bake enough cookies in time now.

“You know what? Fuck this.” Éponine walks out of the kitchen and began to pull her layers on, pulling on her boots and three sweatshirts before putting on her Gryffindor scarf and her long winter coat, letting it drop down to her knees. “We’re going grocery shopping! Hurry up and get dressed, I’ll get my purse!”

Enjolras stares as she walks back to their bedroom and reluctantly begins to get ready, putting on numerous layers, a beanie, and a scarf that matched Éponine’s underneath his winter coat before going to sit in the living room, waiting for her. He steals a glance underneath their Christmas tree in the corner and smiles to himself at the sight of his present for her, lying there to be opened the next morning. He can’t wait to see the look on her face once she goes through the long process of opening it. The thought soon leaves his head the moment Éponine makes an appearance again, gesturing for him to get up and go with her.

Once they exit the warmth of their apartment, they’re greeted by a blast of icy air as they walk out into the ugly grey slush that’s lining the streets of New York City, snow falling down upon them and cold air nipping at their noses. Éponine squeaks and shivers, rushing to wrap her arms around Enjolras’s and snuggling close to him for warmth. “I’m still mad at you for burning the cookies, by the way,” she informs him, acting all cold and severe, although Enjolras clearly sees the sparkle in her dark eyes. “Don’t expect to find me naked under the Christmas tree tomorrow.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I shan’t,” Enjolras replies dryly, rolling his eyes and biting back a smile. For the past nine years, ever since they were nineteen, he’s always woken up to an empty bed on Christmas morning, only to find Éponine lying underneath the Christmas tree in an incredibly seductive pose, wearing nothing but a strategically placed bow on her slim body. She’s all bark and no bite; he doubts that he won’t find her naked under the Christmas tree the following morning, despite her threats.

Éponine grins up at him as the two of them walk amidst the falling snow, the cold breeze blowing their hair in their faces as they make their way to the grocery store around the corner. Once they’re back inside and engulfed in heat, they sidle over to the snacks aisle to search for Christmas cookies that look the most like the ones they would’ve made before they burnt everything.

“If you seriously think you make cookies like that, you’re flattering yourself too much,” Enjolras snorts when Éponine points to a batch of cutesy gingerbread cookies with fun-coloured frosting tastefully decorating the cookies. She shoves him and takes a batch of the gingerbread cookies anyway, sticking her tongue out at him and continuing on down the aisle, pushing the shopping cart along as she looks the shelves up and down, on a hunt for decent-looking Christmas cookies that she could lie about and say she and Enjolras made.

“You know, sometimes I can’t believe I’ve put up with you for nine years,” Enjolras comments gruffly, gazing at his girlfriend with an odd look in his blue eyes as she carefully places a different batch of cookies in the shopping cart.

“Hush, you know you love me,” Éponine quips in reply, flashing her boyfriend a stupid grin as she resists the urge to toss a bag of M&M cookies at his head, knowing how much he resents them. Enjolras shakes his head, rolling his eyes as they journey on down the aisle.

Once their mission is accomplished and they’ve paid for the cookies, they make their way back to their apartment, battling the freezing cold along the way and taking pride in the fact that Éponine doesn’t slip on an icy patch even once. Back in their apartment, Éponine immediately announces that she’s going to go take a shower, not waiting for a reply from Enjolras as she strips down to her underwear right there in the living room and trudges off to the bathroom, leaving him to stare after her, their coats in his arms.

He throws them aside, telling himself he’ll put them away later, and gets down on his knees beside the Christmas tree, picking up his four presents for her—a photo album, like he gives her every year since they became official, with tickets to Anastasia hidden inside the stiff pages, a locket he knows she’s been admiring through the shop window for some time now, that embroidered bomber jacket she’s always wanted, and the ring.

Oh, yeah.

He’s beginning to have doubts about proposing on Christmas Day with just the two of them there, but ultimately, he decides that it’s best if he does it in private—that way, if she says no, he won’t be humiliated in front of all his friends. They’ve been together since they were nineteen, and they’re twenty-eight now—it’s now or never. He doesn’t want to marry and spend the rest of his life with anyone other than her, as insufferable as she gets at times, and after nine years of being in a relationship, he’s ready to take it to the next level. He just hopes she’s ready as well. Lost in thought, he looks at his presents for her and runs his hands over the wrapping paper, thinking about how adorably absurd it is that Éponine’s gifts to him tend to consist of mostly Hot Topic gift cards and her naked self under the Christmas tree, and he’s unaware of how she silently creeps back into the living room, sneaking up on him and surprising him by placing her hands on his shoulders without warning, making him instinctively flinch as she plops down beside him on the carpet.

“Don’t _do_ that!” he hisses, scowling at her as she merely laughs and lays her head on his shoulder, looking at the presents he seems to have gotten for her and raising an eyebrow at the biggest package, which was a large box a whole family of cats could easily make a home inside, tied up neatly with a bow.

“You know, you didn’t have to get all these presents for me,” she tells him, lacing her fingers through his as she lifts her head just long enough to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Who said these were all for you?” he teases, unable to resist a chuckle when she elbows him lightly in the side. Éponine giggles and buries her face in Enjolras’ shoulder as he kisses the top of her head, taking his hand out of hers to put his arm around her and pull her closer, breathing in the lavender scent of her shampoo. “May I ask what you got me this year?” he asks tenderly, laying his head against hers.

“Not telling,” she responds saucily, drawing back to grin up at him, that infuriating grin that drives him absolutely mad and always gives him the urge to throw her onto the nearest flat surface and have her right there.

Shit. His mind’s running away from him.

“What did you get me?” Éponine asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a surprise,” Enjolras replies simply. “Do you want hot chocolate or something? I can go make us some. Maybe we can watch Home Alone and maybe some shitty Hallmark Christmas movies afterwards?”

“Home Alone sounds great,” Éponine agrees, a dimpled smile lighting up her face as she leans forward to kiss him. Pulling back, she laughs at the sight of how he’s turned pink and asks, “Do you want me to help you out?”

“No, I’ve got this,” Enjolras assures her, kissing her nose and smiling affectionately at how she scrunches up her face the moment his lips make contact with the tip of her nose. “Marshmallows, right?”

“Always marshmallows,” Éponine confirms, standing up to go sprawl out on the sofa. “I’ll be here!”

Enjolras shakes his head at her and goes into the kitchen, a loopy grin on his face all the while as he pictures future Christmases to come, hoping and praying that she’ll say yes to his proposal on Christmas morning. She’ll probably be really mad at him at first for the way he wrapped the ring, but she’s been far more angry at him tons of times before—this is just a harmless little joke. Maybe kids will join the mix in their future Christmases together, if she happens to want them as much as he does, and he grins to himself even more at the thought of little children that are half him and half Éponine running around their apartment one day and calling Éponine and him Mommy and Daddy.

 _You’re seriously fucking gone, mate,_ Courfeyrac’s voice whispers in his ear. Enjolras can just _picture_ the stupid shit-eating grin on Courf’s face at those words.

Back in the living room, Éponine is trying to get in a comfortable position as she twists her body around to look at the presents underneath the Christmas tree and smiles when she thinks about all the ways Enjolras would react to her presents for him. A couple of years ago, she brought home a stray cat and he completely freaked out, telling her that it could have rabies and generally being the paranoid nut he is, but after some time, he finally gave in and agreed to keeping the cat, which Éponine named Napoleon just to piss Enjolras off.

She’s a wonderful girlfriend. She really is.

Eventually Napoleon got too sick and they were forced to put him to sleep, and though he never showed it, she knows Enjolras had been devastated by the death of their cat, so she’s bought him a Grumpy Cat plushie for Christmas, along with a French press coffee maker and a fill-in-the-blank book she found at Target called _What I Love About You by Me_. She’s left wondering what he got for her as she stares at the largest package, hearing him walk back into the living room from behind her, presumably with their hot chocolate. She sits up and grins sweetly at him as she takes her Gryffindor mug from him, snuggling back into the soft wool blanket she wrapped around herself earlier as he turns on the TV.

Around fifteen minutes into the movie, Éponine breaks the silence between them, the two of them sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, mostly because Éponine’s got her legs thrown over Enjolras’ lap. “You know I’m not really mad at you for burning the cookies, right?”

“Hmmm?” Enjolras brings his mug down, showing that he has a hot-chocolate moustache, and Éponine stifles a giggle as she continues to speak.

“I was just caught up in the moment, that’s all,” she mumbles, taking a sip of her hot chocolate and taking a little fork that Enjolras had brought her to spear a marshmallow. “It’s okay, right?”

“Come here, ’Ponine.” Enjolras reaches out for her and she sits up to crawl over to him, letting him get cozy underneath the blanket as she lays her head on his shoulder, snuggling into him. He lets his head fall against hers as he murmurs in reply, “S’alright. I know you weren’t really mad.” He kisses her head, mumbling, “I’ve seen you seriously mad. You yell and scream at me and then cry a lot before locking me out of your room.”

“I’m sorry about all those times too,” Éponine apologises quietly, taking another sip of her hot chocolate. “I—I don’t think straight when I’m angry.”

“You never think straight,” Enjolras corrects her. “You’re bi.”

Éponine bites her lip to resist a smile and elbows him. “You _know_ what I mean, you nerd. I think the same could be said about you.” She snuggles into the crook of his neck once again once she’s put down her mug on the coffee table and she sighs, hugging his arm and remarking, “I’ve rubbed off on you.”

“I guess that’s what nine years of being with and six years of living with a tiny, insufferable person does to you,” Enjolras replies. She elbows him again.

“Exhibit A,” Éponine huffs, pretending to glare at him and managing to keep herself looking like that before she dissolves into giggles and buries her face in his shoulder, hugging his arm and feeling his muscles through his T-shirt. “You’ve got a hot chocolate moustache, did you know that?”

Enjolras wipes away the alleged hot chocolate moustache off his upper lip and grins, pulling her closer in an attempt to warm her up and feeling how cold she is. She hums quietly in contentment as the two of them go back to watching the movie, cozy underneath their blanket. Once the movie’s over, Éponine puts on _Love Actually_ like she’s done every year since they first got together, and though Enjolras is, quite frankly, sick of it at this point, he puts up with it, knowing how much she loves the stupid movie. Once they get _that_ over with, she gets up and wraps the blanket around herself as she begins to walk back towards the bedroom, not waiting for him to come along, and after he just sits there for a while, he soon gets up and  catches up to her, finding her standing before the doorway and looking up with an unreadable expression on her face as she keeps the blanket wrapped around herself.

Éponine turns her head when she hears Enjolras approaching, and she smiles up at him as they come face to face. “Look up,” she whispers, unable to stifle her giggles.

Enjolras does as he’s told, looking up and promptly blushing scarlet at the sight of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, his mouth going dry. “’Ponine, it’s—it’s technically not Christmas yet,” he reminds her hoarsely, turning his gaze back to her.

“No, but it will be in a few hours. Consider this as an early Christmas present,” she says, her eyes darkening as she lets the blanket fall to her feet, revealing that she’s wearing nothing but the lacy red underwear she knows he goes crazy for. How the _hell_ she managed to take off her clothes so fast in the amount of time it took for him to reach their bedroom, he doesn’t know, but in that moment, all he can think about is the way her small, slender hand traces the curve of her hip as she gazes up at him expectantly through darkened eyes, commanding seductively, “Kiss me.”

He swallows and does as he’s told, leaning forward and capturing her lips in a passionate kiss as she jumps up on him, throwing her arms around his neck and hooking her legs around his waist as her hands move up into his hair, tangling her fingers in his curls and tilting her head slightly, kissing him with a mad, desperate sort of passion. He holds her up as his hand fumbles for the doorknob behind her, eventually managing to open the door to their bedroom, and then they’re falling backwards into bed and they’ve broken apart, breathing heavily as they stare into each other’s eyes, desperate for each other.

“Make love to me, Gabriel Enjolras,” Éponine whispers, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt in a not-so-subtle hint to make him take it off.

Enjolras immediately catches on and pulls the shirt over his head in an instant, throwing it aside as he leans down to kiss her again, muttering, “With pleasure, Éponine Thénardier.”

* * *

The next morning, as expected, Enjolras wakes up to an empty bed.

Snow is falling outside, piling up outside the window and partially obscuring the street from view. It’s a lovely, sunny Christmas Day, and he can somewhat see the people outside coming and going in their massive winter coats, presumably on their way to the subway. His alarm clock has been going off for about three minutes now, and as he reaches over to turn it off, he hears the distinct sound of children laughing outside and can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe he’ll have children of his own someday and maybe someone else planning on proposing to their girlfriend will hear his children laughing outside.

He knows Éponine is waiting in the living room for him, more likely naked than not, but he can’t help but think about how great last night was. Just when he was beginning to think the sex couldn’t possibly get better, it did, and he’s still recovering from how she thoroughly ravaged him last night as he lies there on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. After several minutes of being deep in thought, he gets up and pulls his clothes on, making sure they’re nice enough to propose to her in, and he makes his way to the living room.

Sure enough, Éponine is there, stark naked under the tree, only this time she’s sitting cross-legged instead of lying in a seductive pose as she gazes expectantly at him. “Merry Christmas, ’Jolras,” she greets cheerfully, waving him over. “You’re dressed nice.”

“You’re not dressed at all,” Enjolras observes out loud, noting how casual his girlfriend appears to be as she fixes him with an intent gaze.

Éponine turns up her nose haughtily, flipping her hair as she sniffs, “I like to think it’s become a bit of a Christmas tradition for us, hasn’t it?”

“Well, ’Ponine, we _did_ have a lot of sex last night,” Enjolras reminds her gently, turning slightly pink at the way in which he’s speaking of things such as intercourse. “Go get dressed, love, and then we can open our presents.”

Éponine pouts at him but gets up. “You’re no fun.” She begins to make her way back to the bedroom as she calls over her shoulder, “Don’t open the presents yet!”

“I’d never dream of it,” Enjolras mutters in response, mostly to himself, as he picks up one of the gifts Éponine’s gotten for him and shakes it, wondering what’s inside. The package is quite soft—a doll, perhaps? It doesn’t seem like anything too out of the ordinary for her to get him. Nonetheless, he’s pleased to find that maybe this year he’s gotten more than weird graphic tees that he’s admitted to liking and Hot Topic gift cards. And, of course, sex, but that he receives a lot of on a regular basis.

He’s just barely restraining himself from carefully pulling apart the wrapping paper out of curiosity to see what’s inside once Éponine returns from their room, now dressed in skinny jeans and a sweatshirt of his, and she takes a seat beside her boyfriend on the carpet.

“Don’t open the biggest one until you’ve opened the rest,” Enjolras tells her, a corner of his mouth turning up in a half-smile.

Éponine eyes the biggest package suspiciously, trying to figure out what could possibly be inside as she grabs one of the smaller presents, already knowing it’s a photo album like he’s made for her every other Christmas. “I’d ask, but it’s probably best that I don’t, so I won’t.” She tears open the wrapping paper of the present she’s currently holding as Enjolras carefully pries the tape off of his, and his eyes widen upon finding that it’s a Grumpy Cat plushie he’s holding in his hands. Éponine laughs at the look on his face, nearly doubling over in mirth, as she tosses the torn wrapping paper aside to flip through her new photo album, her eyes nearly popping out of their sockets when two tickets fall out of the photo album and flutter to the floor. She picks them up and reads the printing on them, actually squealing in delight and tackling Enjolras in a hug, squealing his ear off as she wraps her arms tight around him, excited beyond belief about actually getting to see Anastasia on New Year’s Eve.

“’Jolras, you really shouldn’t have,” Éponine tells him as she wipes away the happy tears, picking up the two tickets and gazing at them as if they were something holy.

“Let me take you on a journey,” Enjolras says, deepening his voice in an exaggerated imitation of one of those TV documentary narrators.

Éponine decides to play along, asking in an overly squeaky tone, “A journey?”

“Yes,” Enjolras continues, grinning at her and struggling to stay in character. “A journey… to the past.”

Éponine playfully shoves him and grabs her next present, finding that the package is rather soft, and Enjolras does the same with his own presents, grabbing a tall, rectangular box wrapped up in obnoxiously red Christmas wrapping paper and beginning to carefully pry the tape off as Éponine just rips the wrapping paper off her own present. She shrieks upon finding that it’s that bomber jacket she’s been talking about wanting for some time now, and she immediately pulls her sweatshirt off to try on the bomber jacket, sighing out loud at how soft it feels and how nice it looks while Enjolras admires his new coffee maker, and he immediately begins to open his third present, finding a little pink book entitled _What I Love About You by Me_. Raising his eyebrows questioningly, he turns his head to look at Éponine, but she’s too busy admiring her new locket, and he begins to flip through the pages, turning beet red when he lands on a page that has the words “I never get tired of you eating me out under the table while I’m trying to read, even though I call you evil for doing so during the action” written on it. Éponine grins at him and wiggles her eyebrows when he turns to look at her incredulously; he notices that she’s now wearing both the bomber jacket and the locket he got for her.

“Open your last present,” Enjolras suggests, tilting his head and smiling mysteriously as Éponine rolls her eyes and grabs the last present, left unopened because Enjolras is just so desperate to have her open it last. “Actually, let’s sit down on the sofa while you’re opening it.”

“Jesus, okay!” Éponine gets up and walks around the coffee table to sit on the sofa with him, tearing the bow off and opening the box, only to find another box inside, and the colour immediately drains from her face at the thought of having to open a zillion more boxes before getting to her present. “Gabriel Enjolras, is this what I think it is?” she asks, a hint of a snarl in her tone as she gives him a look.

“Just keep opening them!” Enjolras tells her, impatient. He can’t wait to see the look on her face when she finds the velvet ring box in the smallest box, and he’s practically at the edge of his seat as she takes out the box within the largest, opening it only to find another box. Éponine shoots him a glare but continues to open them, groaning aloud when she finds nothing but more boxes within more boxes.

It’s been going on for a couple of minutes when she lets out a scream of frustration at yet another box, telling Enjolras hotly, “I really fucking hate you right now, you know that? Wipe that grin off your face!”

Enjolras continues to grin knowingly to himself, unable to wait for the look on her face when she finds the ring box, and she’s still growling in irritation as she tosses boxes aside, wondering why the hell she’s in love with this idiot who seems to think it’s funny to annoy the fuck out of her. It’s only when she finds the ring box inside the last box that her entire demeanour changes, and she almost immediately opens it with trembling hands, her eyes widening upon seeing the ring inside.

“This—this is a joke, right?” she asks slowly, staring at the twisted-vine engagement ring inside the box, set with three beautiful glittering diamonds. It probably costs more than all of her life savings combined. “’Jolras, you—I—this—it’s just a—this is supposed to be a—a joke, right?” she manages to choke out, her hand flying to her mouth.

Enjolras slides off the sofa and gets down on one knee in front of her, waiting for her to say something else as he takes her free hand in his.

“This is—you’re not being serious,” Éponine says, sounding as if she’s trying to convince herself more than she’s trying to convince him. “It’s—this is just a—just a joke, right?”

Enjolras shakes his head, smiling encouragingly up at her as the realisation that he’s trying to propose to her finally dawns on her, and he can actually see how she slowly begins to comprehend everything, tears actually forming in her eyes. He’s only ever seen Éponine cry twice, the first time being when she found out her ass of a father died and the second time being when Grantaire had to be hospitalised after an overdose. That had been a terrible day for all of them, Éponine most of all—she had broken down sobbing at R’s bedside and refused to leave his side the whole time he was there, refusing to leave her best friend when he was in his most vulnerable state. That was the last time Enjolras saw Éponine cry.

Until now.

“Éponine Thénardier,” Enjolras begins, taking a deep breath as he attempts to calm his nerves, “I know proposing to someone on Christmas Day is the most overdone thing and is something right out of a shitty romcom, but I couldn’t resist. Will you marry me?”

A single tear escapes Éponine’s eye as she nods wordlessly, the lump in her throat preventing her from being able to speak, and the grin on Enjolras’ face grows wider as he takes the ring and slips it on her finger, admiring how nice it looks on her. The next thing he knows, she’s tackling him in a hug and he falls back onto the carpet with her on top of him, laughing and crying and yelling at him for all the unnecessary boxes as she presses kisses to his lips and cheeks, unimaginably happy at the thought that she’s engaged to the love of her life now and starting to cry all over again as they sit up, Éponine in Enjolras’ lap. He hushes her softly, his large hands going up to caress her cheeks as he wipes away her tears with his thumbs, leaning in to kiss her. “Hey, don’t cry,” he whispers soothingly, drawing back slightly and leaving a few inches of space between them as his blue eyes find her brown.

“You can’t propose to me and expect me to not cry, ’Jolras,” Éponine tells him through the tears, laughing at the absurdity of her statement. Enjolras chuckles and leans in so their foreheads touched, feeling her breath ghosting against his lips.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Éponine giggles and closes the gap between them, capturing his lips in a long, tender kiss, and once they’ve broken apart, Enjolras’ eyes are still closed for a few moments before he opens them again just as she says, “I love you, too.”

“All I want for Christmas is you,” Enjolras sings softly, grinning when Éponine throws her head back and laughs.

The two of them soon get up to get ready to go to the Christmas party, which is to be held at Courf’s place this year, and Éponine muses, “Mrs. Éponine Enjolras.”

Enjolras turns pink, stammering out, “I—I like the—I like the sound of that.”

Éponine turns around and hops up to him, a naughty little grin on her face, and once they’re face to face, she snakes her arms up his chest and around his neck and stands on tiptoe, pressing a light kiss to his lips and responding with a smile on her face, “I like the sound of that too.”

**Author's Note:**

> i should write more holiday fluff....
> 
> hmu on tumblr @bisexual-eponine
> 
> positive feedback is always appreciated!!!


End file.
